


whomever i kiss, he is the one

by Imkerin



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4026025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imkerin/pseuds/Imkerin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xabi catches Manu alone after the meisterfeier</p>
            </blockquote>





	whomever i kiss, he is the one

"It looks good on you," Xabi says, late that night. His eyes are clear and cool as they always are, the side of his hand hot where it sits unaccountably on Manu's hip, just barely brushing his skin where his shirt has pulled free.

"Huh?" Manu says. He's had too much beer, if there is such a thing, which in the moment there never seems to be. Tomorrow morning he might regret it, or he might not; instead of worrying about that, he focuses on Xabi instead, lifting his own hand and settling it on Xabi's shoulder, as if they're about to dance. "You lost your hat," he adds, thoughtfully.

"So I did." Xabi's thumb works its way slowly further up under his shirt, but neither of them mention it. "Do you mind?"

He doesn't, not really, only it's curious, because Xabi isn't the type of person to mislay things. "Thomas liked the feathers," he says: the slight quirk of Xabi's lips now, when he's looking at Manu alone, is the same as it was then, when Thomas had been sneaking around fucking with people. Manu is pretty sure both that it means something there's no way he'll be able to work out right now and that Xabi would absolutely deny it if he asked.

But Xabi just makes a noncommital, inscrutable _mmm_ -ing noise and doesn't stop smiling. His left hand is most of the way under Manu's shirt, now, and doesn't seem to be inclined to leave anytime soon. It feels good; Xabi has nice hands. Manu's noticed them before in passing, his long slim fingers, the pale metal of his wedding ring, now pressed against Manu's hipbone. He's not quite sure what to think about that, but it jogs something in his brain, and he remembers suddenly-- "What looks good on me?" Because he's pretty sure it's not the lederhosen.

"This," Xabi says, and gestures widely at nothing in particular with his free hand. His smile broadens just a little after a moment of Manu staring at him in fuzzy bewilderment. "Munich."

Oh, Manu thinks, this is that kind of conversation, oh. He's too wasted for this, too drunk and too happy - actually, honestly happy - to really enjoy fencing about loyalty and joy and glory and betrayal and all of that. "It looks good on you, too," he says finally, and Xabi nods, the barest lift of his chin, like a secret revealed, like having Manu under his hands and drunkenly pointing out the obvious was what he was looking for in Bayern all along, which is only a little ridiculous. Manu solemnly reaches up an inch or two, brushing his fingertips across Xabi's heavily-stubbled cheek, feeling the faint prickling burn it leaves behind shiver through him. That looks good too, he thinks, and because he's drunk, and because Xabi's still watching him, he lets himself say it.


End file.
